Obituaries as an educational tool

April 27, 2012|By Cory Franklin

Charles Colson (Keystone-France/Gamma-Keystone, Getty photo)

Journalist and humorist Russell Baker once reminded us that the obituary can be a powerful device to educate us about history, culture or simply the way the world once was. The way we lived then, how we live now and in the future have all been affected by people who make one final appearance in an obit.

Two of the last main characters in the Watergate scandal recently died within a month of each other. The first, Henry Ruth, was a special prosecutor for the Watergate investigation and helped prepare charges that ultimately led to President Richard Nixon's 1974 resignation. The second was Charles Colson, a Nixon aide who served seven months in prison for obstruction of justice.

With the median age in the United States now 37, a majority of Americans have no practical memory of these two men or of the "third-rate burglary" that morphed into a genuine threat to our nation. Today, most students' knowledge of Watergate comes from our current crop of history books, many of which are poorly written, or from the Internet, rife with political bias from the right and left. How frequently do we hear Democrats, Republicans and journalists resort to specious Watergate analogies, as if any recent political scandal equaled its gravity?

Baker noted the vacuum created by death was not simply historical, but also cultural. He wrote: "The older one becomes, the more aware he grows of his culture collapsing and another culture, increasingly alien to his own, replacing it. … As youth turns to middle age, and middle age into grayness and failing vision, the cultural collapse accelerates. It becomes routine to arrive at the obituaries and find another part of your past has been moved out during the night."

So it was, in another obituary coincidence, the two greatest impresarios of televised rock 'n' roll died within a few months of each other. In February, Don Cornelius, creator and longtime host of "Soul Train," died. Beginning in 1970, Cornelius was a groundbreaker who brought African-American rock and soul artists to mainstream television. Many believe, with some justification, that Cornelius never received the full credit he deserved for all his accomplishments, including introducing white audiences to black culture.

Cornelius' model was Dick Clark, who died this month. Clark was the highly successful TV entrepreneur who produced syndicated shows featuring games, TV "bloopers" and, of course, the New Year's Eve celebrations. But only people of a certain age understand that Clark began his career by realizing the nexus of the postwar youth culture, rock 'n' roll and the new medium, television. Before "American Bandstand," where he began his career, there was no such thing as rock 'n' roll on TV.

Levon Helm also died this month. He was the unusual combination of drummer and vocalist for The Band, the group Tribune rock critic Greg Kot described wonderfully as "one of the most revered ensembles in rock history … a quintet built on interplay, empathy and shared responsibility." Kot also quoted another critic, John Carroll, who said Helm was the only drummer who could make you cry.

Unfortunately, The Band broke up in 1976, before nearly half of today's population in the U.S. was born, leaving only recordings and videos of a group that stayed true to its roots — a unique combination of blues, country and rock. This was at a time when so many musical artists were sacrificing their music to artifice or the fashion of the day. Without that context, it is difficult to understand The Band. If you are interested, check out Martin Scorsese's documentary about their final concert, "The Last Waltz." It is arguably the best rock 'n' roll movie ever made.

Baker also wrote that at a certain age, the past starts vanishing so fast it is impossible to keep track of who is dead and who is still alive. It reduces us to counting survivors.

Helm's death leaves only two of the five members of The Band alive; only two surviving Beatles, three Monkees. It's even harder to keep track of groups that continually reconstitute, like the Beach Boys and the Rolling Stones. Ironically, Brian Wilson and Keith Richards are still alive. Trust me, in 1968 you could have gotten long odds on both of them still being around in 2012.

Reading the obits of Colson and Ruth, along with that of Cornelius, Clark and Helm, is an indication that "another part of your past has been moved out during the night."

Some young people will likely roll their eyes at that simple expression about the past. I feel sorry for them. It was a fascinating place to be.